This rose of hers was meant to be admired in isolation, and she didn't want to leave any regrets, but her hope turned into regrets...
I have not forgotten her, and I am not ready to love again, so let her live well, become the light of the world, and become my regret.
I just wrote your and my past into a book, a short story
Concept: A rose will always chase herself because of a beam of light